ShadowShot : L'enfant Guerrier Read online

  “Before we go further Jack, I think it’s best if I tell you something about myself. I was Colonel George Pisani. Did I tell you I was in the army during the war?”

  “Yes but you never really elaborated on it.”

  “I’m a third-generation Italian immigrant. My father and my grandfather served in the army with distinction. I’m proud to say I was the first West Point graduate in our family. I rose to the rank of Major. When we got into the war I was transferred to General Allison, who was in charge of organizing all American resistance on the European front. I was already in intelligence and as you might imagine was very good at it. I suppose that’s why he had me assigned as his right-hand man. At first I was a little disappointed not being able to get in to the fight, but I realized I could do a lot more for the war effort from a desk than carrying a rifle. Besides the general made me a colonel and colonels no longer lead Cavalry charges, unless of course, their name was Patton. After the war ended I decided to retire and get on the ground level of intelligence, and that’s why I joined the Company.”

  “Getting back to you. You spent about three years in the French resistance. When you were six years old you helped kill two German soldiers with Marie Claude, who were attempting to rape her. Then with Peppy, Marie Claude, and the others you helped to poison two more officers and some soldiers. You executed two captured German soldiers, and killed a German Major and wounded his Lieutenant. You probably would’ve gone on to more acts of reprisals against the third Reich, but unfortunately, you were captured. You even had a legendary name. You were called L’enfant Guerrier.

  “The Gestapo was about to hang you when you were rescued from the noose by Dr. Joseph Mengele, a.k.a. The Butcher. He fancied himself a scientist. In truth, he was nothing more than a sadistic madman. His interest in and manipulation of you, was what made you able to be a cold-blooded killer at such a tender age.

  “Peppy was able to spring you from a German prison clinic before The Butcher removed your brain. At the same time he got your mother and grandmother out of Paris, where at a great loss to themselves, they had been extremely useful in helping to get information to the allies. Peppy then coordinated the escape through France and Spain to Portugal, so that both parties would arrive at the same time and leave by boat to England. Unfortunately, you were being tracked by the Gestapo. Someone leaked the information. Your mother and grandmother were already on the boat as you were about to board. You were shot in the back and fell off the stone pier on your head, resulting in a coma. Peppy managed to get you on the boat and they took off. Eventually all of you got to England, with you still in a coma. Peppy lost a few men in the firefight, but we believe he made it out of there. We never heard anything about him again, which was too bad, because he was quite the hero, bringing death and destruction to the Nazis.

  “When you came out of your coma you had complete loss of memory. You did, however, eventually remember who your mother and grandmother were. Besides the bullet wound, you had a hard whack on the head. Who knows? Maybe you just wanted to forget. At any rate, my general back in the States decided to get you and your mother and grandmother back home as soon as possible. All psychological, psychiatric, and hypnosis treatments that were available back then was used to make sure that you blocked out all of those bad memories.”

  “Jack, pass me that water. It’s time for more painkillers. Where was I? Oh yes. Memories that a little boy should not have to remember were blocked out. Your mother and grandmother were in complete accordance with that. There was also another reason for doing this. The German major you killed was known to be another one of those sick bastards like your friend Hans. But he was even worse, completely sadistic. However his family was very wealthy and well placed. It was thought that they had a personal vendetta against you. They led the Gestapo tracking you to Portugal. The war was not yet won and my general feared that at some point retaliation could be taken out on you. You were given a different identity and a whole new life. By the way you weren’t born with the name Jack. Your name was Johno. It’s a nice name. I like it.”

  I sat in complete silence listening to every word that George said. He filled in all the details that he knew. My God, no wonder they didn’t want to tell me about all what we had gone through as a family. How could they?

  “George, why the interest in tracking me, my whole life?”

  “How could I not? You were fascinating to me and you still are. You had the potential of being the ultimate warrior. You were perfect for becoming part of the defense against the Iron Curtain and anyone or anything else that challenges the survival of America. Those were very scary times Jack. We came close to blowing ourselves off the face of earth more than once. Something else you should know.”

  I braced myself. With George there was always something else you should know.

  “We had spies in the German Army. I’m glad to say that not all Germans were Nazis. Many realized that Hitler and his cronies were madmen and were going to destroy Germany.”

  I filled him in on my dreams especially the one about Hans.

  “Are you sorry you know now Jack?”

  “No it answers a lot of questions I’ve always had. You did the right thing telling me.”

  It was evening. His speech was slowing down and he looked so tired, but he insisted on talking more. We sent up for some dinner and continued.

  “George that was all a long time ago. I want you to know that I don’t even hunt anymore. I don’t want to kill anything. In fact on the contrary, I am the guy who now takes spiders out of the sink and sets them free in the garden. How can I bring myself to kill the best friend and probably the worst that I’ve ever had?”

  “Because you don’t want to see me suffer, which is exactly what I’m doing even as we speak. You don’t want to see me caught by my arch enemy, and kept alive so he can torture me. And money could be some motivation. I would sooner see you get it than give it to Save the Spider Foundation. By the way, there’s a complete dossier on everything I told you. I didn’t want to take a chance on it falling into someone else’s hands so I thought it best just to let you know about everything in person if you wanted to know. The dossier is with the $300,000.”

  “Tell me how you would plan this. I mean we’ve already been seen together by a lot of people. That’s not good.”

  “Not a problem Jack. I can make a show of checking out of here. You can meet me somewhere up the coast. I believe you have a boat with you. I promise I won’t resist. Take me out to sea, weigh me down, and dump me overboard - habeas corpus. Plus I rather like the idea of a Viking burial of sorts. I’ve prepared a semi legal document on the remote possibility that you might someday need it. It says that I sanctioned you to perform euthanasia on me because of my extreme illness, I have it here, signed sealed and now delivered if you will help me.”

  “You bastard, George. You know I could never say no to you, especially when you’re in front of me. You should’ve been a politician. You have a face that’s just kind of hard to say no to. Rotten luck. I am really sorry. You should have told me you were sick sooner. We could have spent more time together. I thought I would have you around for a long time.”

  “Actually my boy I have been sort of a politician if you get my meaning. I wish that we had more time together too.”

  We talked some more and then he told me that he had to get some sleep. He was worn out. He asked if we could spend tomorrow together and then separate. It wouldn’t be good to be seen together again. He said not to worry. After all we were both professionals. There wouldn’t be a problem. We agreed it would be enjoyable to spend the next day together. We could fine-tune our plan.

  Just before George slipped off into wherever his painkillers were taking him, he wondered if he should’ve told Jack about having him hypnotized. No. He could read about it in the dossier. He tried to remember if he had explained about meeting the French resistance fighter in London during the war, and why he wasn’t told when Johno was captured and detaine
d by The Butcher. Maybe Peppy had not told his men. At least now Jack knew.

  I went back to my hotel, took a bottle of wine to my room, and started going over everything that he had told me about who I was. I didn’t want to forget a single detail. I had asked him what had happened to Peppy and Marie Claude. He said he couldn’t remember, but everything should be in the dossier with the money. It all seemed to make a lot of sense filling in the blanks. Now I understood why my family would do their best to avoid answering my questions. It must’ve been hard on Frank. I suppose he knew all of it from my mother. She must’ve made him promise to never say a word. The part about my mother being under house arrest in Paris for suspicion of being a spy for the Americans, and the part about being semi rescued by a German dignitary who had always lusted after her before the war. How does a mother tell her son about that? I can just see my mother telling me what I was like before my accident; telling me how I killed my first two Germans when I was six years old, and how she was proud of me for being such a great little killer.

  The next morning George and I went over our plans. He checked out of his hotel and got a ride with the hotel taxi to the next town north. I made a show of checking out of my hotel and drove south. I hooked up my boat and headed north by a non-coastal road. I had checked the weather out for the next few days. The seas would be calm. I met George at a designated spot and we drove out to an old, small, unused boat ramp that I knew about. There was a broken down wooden pier next to it where I could tie the boat, while I pulled the truck and boat trailer up on high ground. I launched the boat without any problems. I had made George climb into the cabin in the front of the boat before we got there so nobody would see him. It was about three in the morning. No one was around. I locked up the truck and walked out to the old pier. I hoped that my tires and truck would still be there when I got back. Normally I would’ve never left my rig in such a quiet lonely place. After all this was Mexico.

  “George, we’re just about to cast off.”

  I undid the bowline and threw it up on the deck. As I was about to climb down into the cockpit someone said, “Stop!”

  I turned around to a big guy holding a gun on me. My first speculation on his identity was either a bandit or Mexican cop wanting a payoff. Except this guy had short cropped blonde hair and his next words cinched it. Eastern Europe. He must have been following us from the time I left with the boat and saw me pick up George. I guess he waited till I launched, went to park the vehicle, and then came along the beach climbing up on the dock to present himself. Shit! This was supposed to be easy.

  He said, “Tell him to come out or your dead!”

  The cabin didn’t have any windows in it. Even if George had been armed, he would’ve had to stick his head around the corner to take a shot. It would’ve been too late for me.

  George stuck his head out said, “Well, well, if it isn’t Nikolai. You’re even better than I thought you were. I guess I underestimated you. Okay you got me. Let him go. He is only taking me fishing.” In a very deep voice Nikolai said, “No we all go fishing now,” and shoved me into the boat. “You drive. Now go.” He pointed his pistol at George and said, “Come out more where I can see you.”

  I went to the wheel, started the engine and we took off. I looked back over my shoulder. There was no one on the beach that I could see. It actually would have been nice if some Federales had been patrolling. George hadn’t told me very much about this guy but I’d been around long enough to know that he wasn’t going to let me go free. Why should he?

  The 38 with a silencer George gave me, was in my backpack. I had thrown it in the hatch under the seat where he was sitting. You weren’t supposed to have weapons in Mexico, but I did have a loaded 12gauge pump in the cabin under the bunk below a removable plank. No way to get to that. And of course there was an assortment of fisherman’s tools close at hand that could be used to poke or bonk a person. But the problem with that was, this guy was big and not too old and looked very strong. No doubt a trained killer who had his weapon pointed on us.

  I didn’t think this would be a very long boat ride. I’m sure he didn’t want to go any further than necessary. I figured his plan would be to do us both and then bring the boat back and take off. There was no way out of this but to take him out first. I was scrambling my brain to try and think of something. I figured George was too, but he was looking really bad. I couldn’t count on him being much physical help.

  I was going as slowly as I could to give me more time, when he came up behind me and punched me in the kidneys, and said, “Faster you go faster!” My knees buckled under me, but I pulled myself back up by holding the wheel.

  George said “I’m sorry I got you into this.” But his eyes said you have to make the first move. I’ll do what I can to help you. I thought about that old Humphrey Bogart movie Key Largo. There are three bad guys he has to take to Cuba on his boat. So he pretends that something’s caught in the propeller and asked one of the guys to look over the back. When he does, he guns the boat and turns the wheel. Over goes the bad guy. It was a good move, but not one that would work here. Still, just maybe. It was dark with no moon. There were no lights on the beach. I had taken the precaution to take a compass reading, so I could get back to the dock and my truck. Otherwise, it would be too easy to miss it. There wouldn’t be anywhere to even tie up the boat. It wouldn’t do to cut it loose and have to walk to find my truck.

  We were pretty far out now and I could see some lights way off to the south on shore. I thought maybe if I could disable the boat in some way, Nikolai might need me to get back to shore. At least it would give me more time. It wouldn’t help George, but then that’s what we were here for anyway. Too late!

  He said, “Stop here!”

  I did, but I left the engine running in neutral. He grabbed me by the neck and shoved me down on the seat where he had been sitting. Damn! This guy was strong. There was still no way to get to the 38 before he put one in me. He brought his attention back to George.

  “For what you did to her I wanted to kill you slowly, very slowly. I wanted it to take two, three days. But you’re lucky. No time now. I have to be satisfied just to see you dead. But I think I give you a little pain first, for her.”

  George said, “I’m sorry about your wife. It was an accident. The shooter missed you and got her. I truly am sorry, but go ahead and do whatever you have to do.”

  “Wait! I yelled. “Wait! You can’t do that. This is a boat. The bullet could go through him and into the boat and sink it. Is that what you want?”

  He hesitated, then switched his pistol to his left hand, reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He grunted and moved closer to George. Just as he got close, George kicked him hard in the groin. I had to make my move now. There was a fish knife I used for cleaning, stuck in the side of the gunwale. It wasn’t meant for throwing, but it would have to do. I grabbed it and made the throw. If it’d been a throwing knife, and if the boat wasn’t rocking a little bit, I might’ve made it stick. I aimed for his throat but it went high and slashed his cheek and ear. He was still holding the switchblade in his right hand. He swung his left around. The gun was pointed right at me.

  Suddenly there were three small caliber shots. He staggered back, swung back on George and fired into him. I grabbed an iron wood fish bonker and charged. His gun was still in his left hand and the knife in his right. As he turned to me, I smashed the Ironwood down on his wrist. He dropped the gun, screamed, and charged me. As he did, George stuck his foot out and tripped him momentarily. He stumbled a few feet past me. I swung the club as hard as I could, hoping to catch him on the head, but it got him on the shoulder. The blow plus the movement of the boat hurled him to the stern by the motor. Now I was by the wheel and he was coming up off one knee, about to charge me still holding the knife. His gun when he dropped it had slid underneath a bench seat. What did Bogart do in Key Largo? And that’s exactly what I did. I jammed the boat into gear, full throttle. He was sent flying r
ight off the stern.

  After a few hundred feet I stopped the boat, I fished out the gun from under a seat and said, “Hold on George we don’t know if he’s dead or not. Also he may have another gun.”

  He definitely wasn’t dead when he went overboard, even though I thought George had put three slugs in him probably with a 380. The problem of whether to pull away and leave him, 99% sure he would die. But what if he had on a bulletproof vest? Besides bodies didn’t always sink. I put the spotlight on and motored back to him, until I picked him up in the light. I kept the light trained on him, as I got closer. I wanted him dead but I didn’t want him to resurface sometime later. Blood was leaking out of his stomach area. When I got close his eyes opened. To his credit he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and I put two slugs in his head. I came alongside and snagged him with the gaff, then tied him off to a cleat. He wasn’t wearing a vest. He was just tough. George’s shots had taken their toll.

  “George, are you still with me?”

  “Yes Jack but not for long. Did you finish him?”

  “I tied him off and I’m going to sink him.”